happy birthday to me. ship all my presents directly to COVID, as it's trying to steal everything from me anyway..

One time, when we were younger, my sister went rollerblading with a friend and fell and cracked her skull.  She was in the hospital for a few days, including MY BIRTHDAY, and I'm still ticked about the fact that she stole all my glory that year. (JK/JK I'm mostly over it I guess.)  The freaking nerve of some people, right?

Well, this year, I'm forced to relive that trauma, as today marks yet another birthday ripped away from me, this time by that gloryhog, Coronavirus.

Good gravy, I had all kinds of plans.  I was probably going to venture out in public.  I was probably going to get coughed on by a stranger.  I was probably going to lick the handrails on a city bus.  And just like that, poof.  Plans = gone.

And just to add salt to the wound, I had planned to dedicate today's blog post to the bosom friend that is my retainer.  This, my thirty-fourth year, marks twenty years of faithful friendship.  I love it, I cherish it, I wear it religiously.  It is the only thing standing sentry against my mouth turning into one of those puzzles where you can slide the pieces to different spots without ever actually removing them from the frame. 

It pains me to be the bearer of bad news, but something tragic has happened.  This week, as if to tell me in no uncertain terms that a twenty-year-old retainer is too old, it cracked.  It is being held together by a sliver of twenty-year-old plastic and a desperate prayer.  

Soon, it will also be held together by Superglue and shipping tape, because y'all.  I am not lying to you when I tell you my teeth are shifty.  I am thisclose to looking like Massage Lady.  And all the dentist offices are closed to "nonessential procedures" at the moment (though, I don't really know what's more essential than preventing my inevitable and permanent disfigurement.  But whatever).  

This birthday is turning out to be hard.  And obviously not just because I'm now officially in my midthirties.  I know that some of you out there will insist this isn't the beginning of the end for me, but I'm just not able to hear it right now.  If there's any proof of the dregs of youth left in me, it's that I'm still young enough to be an ass when it comes to accepting levelheaded wisdom.  Let me just feel my feels, OKAY BOOMER?

So, I suppose I will take this moment to end on a positive note, just because that's what a grownup would do in a situation like this and, as it turns out, I am positively right in the middle of being a grownup.  *Sigh.*

I would like to give a shoutout to Black, Winged Eyeliner, which has stuck by my side for a full twenty years without wavering.  We did have a rocky patch when my greasy eyelids were just too much for the Wet N Wild liner pencil I was burdening with my unrealistic expectations.  But that glorious wing stayed with me even through those young days of folly, and we have come out on the other side stronger than ever, thanks to Revlon Colorstay Gel liner (which does line greasy lids with aplomb, even those belonging to a Face Toucher).

So, thank you, Black, Winged Liner, for your faithful support.  You have brought out the best in me for a full twenty years, and I hope for twenty more (and then twenty more, and twenty more again, if we're hoping for stuff) together.  Let's grow old and glorious together, kay friend?  Kay. Luvyabebe.

Happy birthday to us.